Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
As she would.
From what Rus knew about the BDSM+ world, it was about openness and communication. It was about making promises and keeping them.
Paramount: Trust.
You might not click with the woman you hired to work you, but you didn’t give a three star and below to someone you didn’t click with.
You gave that to someone you didn’t like.
McGill’s voice kept coming at them.
“She also got a complaint eight months ago that was so bad, they gave her a warning, one more and she was out. As far as they knew, until now, she was toeing the line. Subtext to that, it’s clear they wished they hadn’t blown a golden opportunity. They were both surprised and not surprised when the FBI came calling.”
“What was the complaint?” Rus asked, but he knew.
There was a knock on the doorframe to the open door behind him, but even if Moran looked that way, Rus ignored it as McGill continued speaking.
“Not observing hard limits,” McGill told them. “We sent agents to her place last night, but the folks from the website informed us she had a new client booked in. He requested her specifically, which they were already shocked about, because she doesn’t get a lot of referrals, and as of this morning, she hasn’t checked in as they require their contractors to do. They told me this isn’t unusual. Customers pay by the scene, not by the hour. We got guys out there sitting on her place and they’ll grab her when she comes home. I’ll let you know the minute we have her.”
“Moran and I’ll be on the road when you do.”
“Right.”
“Ben, I want the fingerprints around the back window processed first,” Rus told McGill.
“I already added that to the request,” McGill replied.
“Great. Thanks. Keep us in the loop. Later,” Rus ended it.
He hit the screen to close the call and saw Dickerson rounding Moran’s desk with a laptop.
Moran jerked his head to Rus, but Rus was already out of his seat and moving around the desk.
“Once they sent it in, didn’t take long to find it,” Dickerson said, hitting a button on the laptop, and the black-and-white video on the screen played.
The date on the feed was the night of Brittanie’s murder, eight thirty-nine.
The feed was from the opening-soon outdoor gear store who really didn’t want anything stolen while they were setting up shop, so they had cameras. And they were all over offering up feeds to the local sheriff to help in a murder investigation.
On the feed was a BMW driving through the lot. The video was small, and grainy, but you could easily make out two people in the front seats of the car.
You couldn’t make out faces, and definitely not license plates, not from what he could see. Someone could enhance it, though they probably didn’t have those programs at Fret County Sheriff’s Office.
But they didn’t need it enhanced for now.
Ezra Corbin owned a BMW.
His chest felt tight.
Fucking hell.
They had the who and they had the how.
He didn’t give a fuck about the why, just as long as they could say who and how.
And they could.
Dickerson’s finger moved over the mousepad, that feed minimized, and he hit go on the next feed.
Same car exiting the lot, this time it was the next morning at four twenty-three.
Seven hours.
They tortured her for seven hours.
Rus kept himself perfectly still.
Dickerson spoke. “You know we already talked to all the desk clerks about him. No one checked Corbin in ever, to their knowledge. We got this feed, we called the motel.”
“Anyone specifically ask for room seven?” Moran asked.
Dickerson shook his head. “But the clerk on duty said a dark-haired, Caucasian woman came in for what she thought was a matinee the day before. She didn’t have anyone with her. The clerk on duty that day is the one there now. She didn’t notice anyone joining her. That doesn’t mean someone didn’t, but in the comings and goings during the day, they couldn’t say for sure if someone did. She didn’t check out in person, just left her key in the room and was gone by the next morning. The clerk said she saw her leave mid-afternoon, but thought she went for food or something, or was just done with her tryst. She didn’t remember seeing her come back. She’d never seen her before. But she was put into room seven.”
“And Jason’s supposed email came in that afternoon, telling her which room to ask for,” Rus said. “And Better Times Motel doesn’t have very many amenities, but they do have Wi-Fi.”
Dickerson nodded.
“Log that,” Moran said, dipping his chin to the video. “I’m going to get you a picture of the woman we’re looking at. I want you going right out to the clerk who checked her in, and I want an ID.”
Dickerson nodded again, grabbed the laptop and left.